


Drunken Singing

by bazypitchandsimonsnow (ChessPargeter)



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drunk Simon, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 17:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/bazypitchandsimonsnow
Summary: Simon Snow is a horrific singer. And alcohol only exacerbates that fact.





	Drunken Singing

Simon Snow is a horrific singer. And alcohol only exacerbates that fact.

“All you sinners stand up sing Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” His off key rendition of Brendan Urie rings through the hallway, sounding worse than nails on a chalkboard.

“Shh! You want to wake up the entire building?” I hiss.

He hangs off of me, one arm around my neck and another waving wildly. His face is flush from all the booze. Well, “all” as in two shots of vodka and a beer (Snow is a lightweight.) He giggles and throws his head (along with his body weight) back, making me stumble a bit.

“I, don’t, care what you think, as long as it’s about meeeee!”

I roll my eyes so hard they nearly spin out of their sockets.

“If you’re going to communicate with me in Fall Out Boy lyrics, I’m ignoring you.”

He pouts at that, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Awwww don’t be like that. I’ve got the music in me!”

“That’s just the title of a shitty disco song. Now c’mon, let’s get to your flat.”

I hold him tighter to me, hauling us forward. We’ve had a long night and I for one would like to sleep. Snow complies, content with mumble singing some more Panic! At The Disco (still off-key).

We finally reach the apartment door. I prop my overly intoxicated boyfriend against the wall and look for my key. (Simon gave me one last year. Bunce got annoyed with answering the door for me all the time.) Snow stares at me with a stupid grin on his face. I flick my eyes over at him, one eyebrow raised.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You’re really pretty.”

I drained a deer only two hours ago, so I have enough blood to blush. And I do. Like a bashful idiot being noticed by the cutest guy in the room. I smirk a bit, fighting the urge to grin ridiculously wide. I have some pride left. Not much, but some.

“And you’re drunk as a skunk, Snow.”

He giggles and leans more against the wall. He smiles that amazing smile, the one that’s like sunshine on a rainy day. Merlin and Morgana, he's gorgeous. Sometimes I still can't believe he's with me.

The lock clicks open with ease. I drag the 19 year old toddler towards the door. He spins his way in, arms flailing about and tail almost slashing me.

“Oy! Watch it with the tail!” I yell.

“Sorry, it has a mind of it’s own!” He laughs at that. I don’t know what’s so funny.

I roll my eyes again, then grab his hand and pull him towards the bedroom. He follows, still giggling at his own humour.

The whole place is empty. We went out with Penny and Micah, who’s in London on a visit. They’re probably still dancing at the nightclub. Simon was getting overly rambunctious, so I offered to take him home and leave the other happy couple to their own devices. Though I do wish Bunce was here so we could groan about Snow’s drunken antics together. Misery loves company, after all.

I lead Snow to the bed and he falls down immediately. He hits the mattress with a thump, still giggling. But then he looks up at me and stops. He just stares, a dumb awe struck look spreading across his face.

“What is it now?” I ask, hands on my hips.

“You’re pretty,” he slurs out.

“Yes, you’ve already said that.”

“Are you single?”

Wow, he’s really hammered. “No, of course not, you dolt.”

He pouts even bigger this time. He looks so cartoonishly, adorably sad. “Awww, that sucks. I wanted to ask you out.” He sits up on the edge of the bed, weakly holding my fingers. “You’re so pretty, and you’re smart and funny and nice. Oh and your skin is really smooth.” He rubs his cheek against the back of my hand.

I don’t stop myself from smiling now. He may be drunk off his ass, but he’s still so sweet, so genuine, like he always is when we’re being soft. I kneel down so I’m at eye level with him. I cup his cheek, running my thumb over his tawny skin.

“What if I told you we’re already dating?” I whisper.

He gasps slightly, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yes, for over a year.”

He grins at this, reaching out to hold my face in return. His hand is so warm against my skin.“Then I must be really lucky.”

I move closer so our foreheads touch, and I can look deeper into his blue eyes. “We both are, love, believe me.”

“If we’re dating, does that mean I can kiss you?”

I chuckle. “If you ask politely, maybe.”

“Can I kiss you?”

I grin wide enough to cause the corners of my eyes to crinkle. Crowley he is so damn cute. “Yes, you may.”

He leans forward to kiss me. It’s a mess (because he’s fucking drunk) but I don’t care, because it still feels incredible. It does every time. My fingers move up to run through his bronze curls. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, hand now holding my neck lazily. My head is getting foggy with thoughts of him. I tear myself away.

“You need to sleep,” I say under my breath.

“Okay,” he replies. He yawns and falls back again.

I stand up and walk to his dresser. His clothes are shoved into the drawers, but at least he keeps his pajamas in one place. I pull out a large t-shirt and sweatpants. Snow is already half asleep on the bed. I undo his trainers, then tug off his v-neck and jeans, leaving him only in his Superman boxers. (He insisted on buying them. He is truly 12 years old at heart.) I lazily dress my idiot boyfriend then lay him down properly on his lumpy mattress. I go to stand up, but Snow grabs my sleeve, keeping me half hunched over.

“Nooo,” he whines, “stay, please.”

“Don’t worry, love, I’m staying. Just going to change out of my sweaty bar clothes.”

He smiles sleepily, hand dropping from me. “Good.”

I take off my jacket and leather boots, then toss my clothes in the hamper along with Snow’s. I open the small drawer Simon keeps empty for me in his dresser. Unlike the other garments stuffed into the piece of furniture, mine are neatly folded and clean. I pick my red silk button down and pants (I’m still the classy one). Snow laying on his side, drooling on his pillow. I take my place next to him (we have our own sides after this long).

I pull up the blanket. Snow mumbles in his sleep and reaches out for me. I sigh, then move closer. He lazily drapes an arm across my side. I hold his back, letting him bury his face in my chest. We fall asleep like that, tangled together, drunk on happiness and vodka respectively.

* * *

You know what’s the most pleasant sound to wake up to? Your boyfriend retching over the toilet.

I slowly rub the sleep from my eyes. I see the unruly mop of bronze curls hovering over the porcelain bowl, red wings flared out behind him. I sigh and make my way to the bath, leaning against the door frame.

“And a good morning to you, darling,” I say with a smirk.

“What hit me?” he groans, voice echoing in the toilet bowl

“Two shots of vodka and a singular beer.”

He looks up at me. He has huge bags under his tired blue eyes. His eyebrows are knitted together, mouth hanging open.

“Seriously? That’s it?”

“You’re a lightweight, Snow. Everyone knows that. Except for you, obviously.”

He groans over the toilet again. “How bad was I?”

I rub my chin. “Hm, well, you attempted to dance on top of the bar, so I had to take you home. Then you draped yourself over me like a rag doll, sang indie rock lyrics at the top of your lungs in the hall, oh, and asked me if I was single.”

He moves one eye up to look at me. “Seriously?”

I nod, and he moans. I pat his back lightly. “Stay here, love. I'll go get some aspirin.”

“Okay.” He puts his head in top of his folded arms, still moaning.

I walk into the main hall then the kitchen. Bunce is standing there with the coffee machine already on. She looks rather normal, considering I watched her down five tequila shots last night. Her curly hair is piled on her head, and her robe is neatly bowed, like any other morning. She turns to look at me.

“Morning, Baz,” she says with a cheery tone. (We're long past outward hostility.)

“Morning, Bunce. Will we have coffee soon?”

“Yup.”

“Marvelous. Where's Micah?”

Right on cue, I hear more retching, but not from the bathroom. It comes from Bunce’s room.

“Pennnnnyyyy. I'm dyyyyying.” Micah’s moan carries throughout the whole apartment. Bunce smirks and points in the general direction of her room.

“There he is. Dying apparently." She cranes her neck in his direction. “I'll be there in a minute, love!”

I sigh. “How much did he have?”

“Not much, really. Both our men are lightweights.”

“Apparently. Is there still aspirin in here?”

Bunce turns around and opens a cupboard. Lots of little boxes and bottles sit next to biscuit tins. She pulls out a small white package.

“Here we go.”

I take it from her. “Why do you two keep the medicine in here instead of in the bathroom like normal people?”

“Because the first place Simon usually stumbles into every morning isn’t the bathroom, now is it?”

That's true. Simon is still obsessed with food. I nod slowly. “I see your point.”

The coffee machine clicks done. I take out Simon’s and my mug (Superman and plain black respectively) from the cupboard. Bunce drinks the brown caffeinated liquid like it's nectar of the gods. She sighs and smiles.

“You're an addict,” I mutter.

“I'm allowed a few vices, Basilton.”

She saunters off back to her room. I walk past the open door. Micah is groaning with his head in Bunce’s lap.

“There there, darling,” she whispers while rubbing his back, “it's alright.”

“There's something wrong with British booze,” he says, voice muffled in Bunce’s robe.

“Nothing wrong with it. You just can't hold down your liquor.”

“...shut up...”

Bunce giggles, eliciting more groans from the American boy.

I go into Snow’s room. He's laying on his stomach on the bed, arm hanging off the edge. I sit next to him, near his lower back.

“Done being sick?” I ask.

“Hopefully,” he mumbles. “Got the aspirin?”

“Yeah, and some coffee. Sit up.”

He shifts around until he's leaning against the headboard. I hand him two white tablets and his mug. He takes them and gulps down the liquid. He makes a disgusted face, all scrunched up and annoyed.

“Is this black?”

“Yeah. Black coffee is supposed to help with hangovers.”

“It tastes like shit.”

“It's not supposed to taste good. It's supposed to make you feel better.”

“Well it's not working, so it's pointless.” He puts the mug down the bedside table, then crosses his arms over his chest. He looks at me funny, like he's trying to remember something.

“What?” I ask.

“Did I really ask if you were single last night?”

I smirk slightly. “Yes. Then when I said no, you got all whiny about how that sucked because you wanted to ask me out. Because I was pretty and smart and funny and nice. Oh, and you liked my smooth skin.”

Snow turns more red than a tomato, then holds his face in his hands. “I hate drunk me.”

I laugh and shift closer to him. I peel his hands away from his blushing face, holding them both in mine. “I actually think drunk you is pretty adorable. He fawns all over me. It's cute.”

He glares. “You just like being praised. It feeds your massive ego.”

I chuckle, bringing his knuckles to my face. I kiss them softly. “A bit. But mostly I like watching you be so happy and giggly. It’s hilarious. Even if you still can't carry a tune.”

He smiles at that. We're both aware of his horrible musical skill. “Well, I'm glad that happy, off key singing, drunk me entertains you.”

“He most certainly does. But now, I think hungover you needs to sleep it off.”

Snow groans and nods, resting his forehead on our joined hands. “Damn right. I feel like I've been hit by a lorry.”

“Then _sleep_ , love. I'll get a bowl in case you're sick again.”

Simon shifts so he's back in his stomach. He buries his face in the pillow, clutching it tightly. “Thank you, love,” his muffled voice strains out. My hand slowly drops from his, letting his arm gently hit the bed.

When I return with a metal mixing bowl and water, Simon is back to snoring and drooling. I place the bowl and bottle on the floor. He looks so peaceful. I remember all the nights I watched him sleep back at Watford. How he would curl up in a ball and whimper because of his nightmares. He’s told me about those nightmares. He’d dream of people dying. Penny, Agatha, even me. Sometimes it was the Humdrum doing it, but most of the time it was himself . He dreamed of going off and destroying everything and everyone around him. Becoming the living bomb everyone thought he would be.

Simon has that dream less and less nowadays. Sometimes, he’ll still wake up sweating in the middle of the night. And I have to calm him down and remind him that he’s not going supernova, that he's not hurting anyone, that we're all ok. But those nights are now a rarity rather than the norm. He’s learning to be happy more, too. Now that he isn’t bearing the weight of being the Chosen One, he can afford the time to see a movie, or take a nice walk, or go out to a bar with his friends. That’s why it’s good to see him drunk. Because he’s carefree enough to get giggling, singing, plastered.

I brush some hair out of his face. He smiles softly. I lean down and kiss that mole on his cheek, the one I wanted to kiss since we were 12. Thank Merlin I’m able to now.

“I love you, Simon,” I say very quietly, so only he can hear.

“Love you too,” he replies sleepily.

I sigh. I feel like a wistful love struck schoolgirl, but I couldn’t care less. He settles comfortably into his pillow even more. I walk around, putting my coffee on the other table, and lean back against the headboard. I take out my phone, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. Suddenly, I feel a warmth brush against my cool skin. Snow’s fingers are reaching out towards me. I loosely hold his hand, running a thumb over his knuckles.

I think of all that led here, from the Humdrum to drinking liquor, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> There you go. My drunken Simon fic. Went way longer than I thought it would be but I like it :)
> 
> PSA: Coffee does not help with hangovers. Don't try it at home.


End file.
